Affection
by Rachael-Raz
Summary: When brotherly love is all you have, it becomes the only thing anyone else needs. No slash, OC, or AU. Just good 'ol Supernatural fun. And of course Hurt!Sam, this is a given. Reviews are Love. You know this. Chapter 3 up!
1. More than Expected

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, save myself and what appears in my own head. Sam and Dean, unfortunately, came from someone else's head. And I'm super jealous.

**Whatever-ness: **Well, my first attempt at Supernatural fanfiction. I do hope you enjoy the... evilness that is my writing. This takes place after 'Sin City'. There will be mucho angst and all-around evilness in the future, but do know this is not a deathfic. I loves them too much to ever kill them.

As always, reviews love. You know this.  
Enjoy!  
Rachael

* * *

**Supernatural**  
_Affection_

It should really stop surprising him how much they fought nowadays. Their life had become an endless cycle - they fought, they made up, they bickered, they hunted, they fought... over and over again.

This was not how Sam wanted to spend his last year with Dean. It wasn't _going_ to be how he spent his last year with Dean. At least, that's what he told himself. Dean just kept getting in the way.

First, Dean was trying his hardest to prevent Sam saving him. That was a blow - a big one. How on earth Dean though Sam was just going to lay down and take this was beyond him... Dean should know better. Hell, he'd been through this before with dad! He should have known better than to do something like this...

And yet Dean was just acting like typical Dean. This was important - more important than anything had ever been to Sam before. Sure, Dean wasn't the talking type... But dammit, he could shove aside that facade for this. Sam_needed _to talk about this. He needed options, answers... but Dean wasn't letting him get any. It was almost as if Dean _wanted_ to go to hell in a year.

But no way could Dean ever want that.

And then the truth had come out. If Dean was saved, Sam would die. Well, he'd been the one to die in the first place, maybe things would be better if they went back to the right order. Though Sam had been shocked at first, he'd learned to live with that fact. Maybe... _maybe _there was a way for them both to get through this. But if there wasn't, he knew he'd have no problem with his end of the outcome as long as Dean lived.

So long as Dean lived. He could die happy.

* * *

Dean hurried into his Impala after muttering an angered 'be right back' to Sam. He started up the engine and sat for awhile listening to his baby purr. Salt and burn. That's what this mission had been. Simple, easy. How on _earth_ they had managed to fight about it was beyond him. Looking back, he wasn't even sure what they had even said to one another. All he knew was that Sam had managed to drag his deal back in... _again_... and that had been it. He needed to get out, get away. He needed to go buy more supplies. He needed fresh air. Most of all, he needed Sam to leave him the hell alone. 

"What's done is done." He growled to himself, putting the car in gear and pulling out, leaving their dingy motel of the week behind. It was raining, the little droplets spattering the windshield - how they managed to find their way down to the ground through the dense forest of evergreens surrounding the town he had no idea. It had rained pretty much every hour of every day they had been there, and it was pissing him off. Washington was a messed-up, wet, cold state, and he couldn't wait to be gone. Back to what he did best - kill demons. It was going to be a hell of a lot easier now the Colt was working once more.

He glanced at the glovebox, where the gun was currently residing. Sam had done that symbol shit to it to insure it's safety, and he almost winced at the scorch marks he had been forced to allow to scar his baby's interior. He _almost _winced, because the part of him - the more Sam-like, rational part he usually kept well hidden - told him keeping the gun in the glovebox was going to be a lot easier than the trunk. In their line of work, easy-access was essential.

As Dean drove the Impala through the rain, which was quickly gaining in momentum and turning into a regular monsoon, he reflected back on their hunt. What had brought them here wasn't word of a specter, though thats what they had found. This place - this godforsaken, tiny excuse for a town - was showing all the signs of demonic intervention. Strange deaths, suicides, and downright creepiness were on an exponential rise. To their disappointment they discovered that a particularly nasty ghoul was behind most of it. One salt and burn later, ghoulie was sent packing. It was good they had done it, but Dean was still eager to get a move on to the more important quarry.

He found the general store, cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. He parked as close as possible and made a mad dash for it, though he was still soaked by the time he entered the tiny shop. He glanced around, seeing no other shoppers. Besides him and the decrepit old man behind the counter, the place was deserted. He sighed, fingering through his pockets for his wallet and running through the list of things they needed in his mind. Firstly and most importantly, they needed more first-aid supplies. But before he'd taken two steps, the old guy called out to him.

"Ey you 'eard the news?"

Dean turned about. "Huh?" It was amazing to him that this man was still upright, he looked like a walking corpse. He'd seen walking corpses that looked better, in fact.

"So much rain it's flooded out d' bridge there, eh?"

Dean's eyes got big. No way, no, he refused to believe it. "How bad is it?"

The old man chuckled, showing a mesh of yellow teeth. "They shut it down, didn' they? No one's get'in 'cross for awhile, now." The man nodded slowly. "Yeh, yer not from 'round here, are yeh?"

Dean shook his head. "No, we... I got a motel."

"Good, looks like you'll be stuck 'ere fer awhile, now."

Dean cursed. Well if it wasn't that Winchester luck once again smiling down on them. Now they were _stuck _here, no was he was gonna risk his baby on that bridge. But _this _place... this of all places... is where they get stuck. No bar, no hospital, one school, one motel, one general store, hick-infested... fucking evergreen land. There weren't even any hot chicks.

Without bothering for any of the supplies he had come for, Dean left. He stood on the outside of the glass door for a moment, preparing himself for another mad dash through the infernal rain.

And then everything stopped.

* * *

Sam was pacing now. He had been so frustrated and angry that when Dean left he had made no move to stop him - to even find out where he was going. But it had been awhile now, and the rain was only getting worse. That Impala was a nice car, but there was no way around it - on wet pavement, it downright sucked. He was just about to flip out his cell phone when the door opened and Dean trudged in looking wet and miserable. Sam couldn't help but smirk, though he stopped at the look Dean gave him. 

"Hey man, you decided to go out into waterfall weather, not me." Sam's weak attempt at humor fell flat. Deans face... there was something wrong. The look of anger of... _hate_ in his eyes... it scared him.

_God, do you hate me__** that **__much?_ Before he could say anything something whipped out of Dean's pocket. Sam had an instant to see that it was. The Colt's unforgiving barrel was staring him down. Sam raised his hands, but was unable to form words. Being held at gunpoint was terrifying. Being held at gunpoint by his own _brother_ was indescribable.

"Dean...?" Sam heard his own voice, but wasn't aware of making an conscious effort to speak. He looked up at his brother's face and gasped. His eyes were black. In a flash his fear melted into anger. "You! Leave hi-!"

He was shocked into silence, his arms dropping limply at his sides as the echoes of the gunshot lingered in the air. Sam looked down at himself and saw his blood seeping all over his shirt from a neat hole in his upper chest. He choked, looked up at Dean even as he fell to his knees. His brother - who was not his brother - stared back, his face cool, cold... uncaring. It was the last thing he saw as the world went away.


	2. Skeletons in the Closets

**Disclaimer: **I _still _don't own Supernatural. I'll inform you when my dreams have all come true.

**Whatever-ness... again: **Thanks so much to all my readers! I hope I didn't kill you with that awful cliffie, though I'm sorry to say it won't be the last. I have a strange love for cliffies. I'm trying to get help. :) Well I won't bore you on with more of my rambling, so please enjoy!

P.S. - I do not have a beta so any strange, abnormal atrocities occurring in the English language are completely my fault and I'll do my best to fix them when they come up. Please just ignore my stupidity.

* * *

Sam came to on the floor of the motel room, gasping. His hands immediately went to his head, where the remains of a blistering headache were slowly ebbing away. He could feel the sting of a large rugburn he'd probably given himself while writhing on the floor, but he didn't care. Rugburns and headaches were the last thing he needed to worry about.

He slowly climbed to his feet, shaking. He had just watched himself die. It was hard enough to see visions of people he didn't know... or to see visions of Dean... but that had to be the strangest and most frightening sight of all. And he'd seen a lot of messed-up shit lately.

Dean. Dean was going to kill him. He shook his head. No, it wasn't Dean, it was that demon inside him. Fate seemed to be running a long, cruel joke on him. How many times would he be attacked by something in the guise of his brother before this was all over?

Turning about in the room, Sam's mind was whizzing away. He had no idea when Dean would get back. He had to move quickly. Grabbing his bag he started shuffling through it, sending anything he though useful onto a heap on his bed. Holy water, amulets, salt pellets, and chalk. His mind went briefly to the Colt. _No. Never. Not Dean._ He chastised himself.

Turning his attention to the pile of objects haphazardly strewn all over his bed, he frowned, assessing his options. He could salt the doors and windows - that would stop demon-Dean entering. But then what? He needed to preform an exorcism - no demon was gonna control his brother like that. Keeping Dean out was not going to help him in that task whatsoever. What he really needed to do was trap the sonofabitch.

_Ring of Solomon, once again you save my ass_. Sam picked up the chalk, grabbing Bobby's book from the bedside table where it lie on top of a pile of wrinkled papers. He flipped to the well-used page and grabbed the large decorative rug that was lying between the rooms two beds, peeling it back to reveal the crappy tilework that served as the room's floor. He dropped to his knees and began to draw.

He was concentrating so hard on making the design perfect he almost missed the sound of the Impala's engine sputtering up the parking lot. He swore under his breath, grabbing the rug and throwing it over the design just in time. He scrambled to his feet at the door opened. This time he was prepared for the angry look his brothers face. He backed towards the bed, his hand inching for the vial of holy water sitting atop it. He glanced down at the floor as Dean entered the room, willing him to take one, two more steps... onto the rug...

Dean's face lost that angered look as the demon realized Sam knew it was there. It instead twisted into a smirk. Not that usual Dean smirk, something darker. "Oh Sammy, you should be more friendly to your brother." It snarled. "You'll hurt my feelings."

"Let him go." Sam's eyes were on Dean's pocket, where he knew the Colt was hidden. How had it even managed to get the damned thing? It was in the glovebox...

Dean scoffed, moving closer. Suddenly he stopped and his eyes dropped to the floor. It kicked the rug up, revealing the pattern on the floor. "Tut tut, you're getting sloppy Sammy." He sidestepped the design, closing the gap between them to a few feet in one sudden motion. Sam stumbled back, and the demon smiled. "Looks like your hunter skills aren't gonna save you this time." He leaned forward, his voice a whisper now. "And neither is your brother."

"What do you want?" Sam demanded. That comment hurt. Hurt like a knife. He wasn't sure if it was because it was insulting - he could, afterall, take care of himself - or if somehow he knew it were true.

"What do I want?" Dean rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mockingly. "Well I want what you have, Sam. Or at least, what you were going to have."

"And what was that?"

The Demon laughed. "Ahh yes, I forgot. Dean didn't let you in the loop." He shrugged Dean's shoulders and heaved a fake sigh. "That night he was trapped in that cellar? With the demon you oh-so-unceremoniously shot dead? Well... they had a nice _long _chat."

"About what?" Sam's eyes were narrowed, his voice quiet.

"The plans for you, Sammy. That 'ol demon you two killed... 'Yellow Eyes' did ya call him? He had _big _plans for you. Dean knows what they were, Sam. I can't fathom why he didn't tell you." The demon paused, relishing the hurt and confusion that passed over the man's face. He stepped forward, eager to, as the saying went, 'pour salt on the wound'. "You were going to be our leader, Sam. You were going to lead the demon army. Hell, you were going to practically run the apocalypse!"

Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut. No, there was no way... "I would never do that!" Dean's face melted.

"Yes. Exactly the problem. You were too weak to rise to your destiny. So instead you and your brother destroyed it. And you know what you've got now? A bunch of leaderless soldiers, all looking out for themselves." He inched closer, driving his point in. "Some were ready to follow you. Others... myself included... felt you were insufficient. You're a mere human!" He spat. "We were expected to follow scum like _you_!"

"Well... I guess you're happy we changed that, aren't you?" Sam's voice was cold.

"Oh yes..." Dean's voice was a hiss. "very. But you see, some still want to follow you. They won't accept a new leader. That is... until the weak leader is destroyed." With barely a blink of the eyes, the demon sent Sam sprawling across the room, pinning him to the wall.

Well, now. He could have a little fun. The original plan had fallen apart on the spot, but he found this to be much more exciting. Certainly more satisfying. The demon reached down, taking the Colt out of his pocket and lying it on the counter, then he looked up at Sam, still held to the wall. "Remember when Yellow-eyes had your dad, Sammy?" He taunted. "Dean does. He remembers how awful it was... to be_killed _by his own father." He paused, and scoffed. "He wonders if dad remembered it. If John had to sit... and watch himself do it..." He grinned, and when he looked up at Sam his eyes were black. "Well... I don't know the answer to that. _But_..." He walked right up to Sam now, inches away from the man's defiant face. He turned, and whispered in his ear. "I want you to scream for me, Sammy. Just in case."


	3. Like Father

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own Supernatural. I'm savin' up, though.

**Whatever-ness: **Once again, I cannot thank you kind folks enough. It's your encouraging words that keep me going with this madness.

* * *

"D-Dean... Dean don't let it... Dean!"

_"Don't you let it kill me, dad!"_

Sam struggled to keep his head up, his teeth grinding together as he choked out words and choked in breaths, all the while keeping the pain back. He shook his head, looking into those black eyes and willing to see Dean there. "D-Dean... fight... I know you can..." _Dad did._

"Oh, sorry Sammy but I don't think Dean'll be able to join us." The demon simpered. "I'll send him a postcard though." His face was overtaken by a wild grin, and he twisted his hand once more. He felt a rib move under his fingers, then snap. It was number three. Thus far, the man had held the pain in well, but the demon was fine with that. He could wait. The screams would come.

* * *

It was dark. He was scared. Something told him he was asleep, dreaming. It told him everything was fine. But he had this overwhelming sense of _dread._ It hung heavy on him, and though he was afraid of what he would find, he forced himself to wake up.

The first thing he noticed was a sense of weightlessness. He couldn't feel his body._Jesus Christ I can't feel my body. _That woke him fully, but the world was black. Vaguely he began to feel his fingers, his legs, but it was strange, off, dulled... And then he heard it. It shattered through the nothingness to pull at his heartstrings. A horrible snapping. And screaming. Agonized screaming in a voice he knew.

_Sam?_

In that instant, everything whipped back into focus. His vision cleared and he found himself staring at the bloodied face of his brother. Sam was pinned to wall, his feet were a few inches off the ground. Dean's hands were on his chest, and before he could do anything more, he felt himself move, and with inhuman strength, he literally _snapped_one of his baby brother's ribs.

_Sam, no! _Dean would have flinched if he had control of his body as he listened to his brother's agony. Hell, he would have _cried._

_What the hell am I dong!? _Dean tried to pull his hands back, but he couldn't. All he could do was watch and scream silently in his own head as whatever had control of him repositioned, prepared to start the horrific process over again.

Then Dean knew the answer. He was possessed, he had to be. _Jesus, how the hell-? _How had it gotten him? How could he have let this happen? And more importantly, how was he going to stop it? _Dad did it. He did it to save me-_ His thoughts fell out of anything rational as another resounding _snap _bit the air. Dear God, he was killing his brother!

Dean gathered all the strength he could, willing himself to pull away, to stop, but his hands refused to listen to him. He was grinding one of his fists into Sam's side - Dean could see the violent tremors of pain running through his little brother's body, could hear him gasping, fighting for breath. Dead concentrated harder, feeling more helpless than he ever had. Hell, he was nothing! Not even a disembodied spirit, he was lost in his own fucking head, unable to do anything but watch! He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. But his brother kept screaming, and Dean felt like he was going to explode.

"D-Dean..."

Sam's eyes were staring right into his, begging, that look Dean always caved to. The hurt, little-brother look that allowed Sam to get away with anything.

"Dean please..." Blood dripped down his chin as he choked out the words. Dean knew that unless he did something... _right now_... Sam was going to die. Hell, he was already _dying_.

And right then, Dean discovered something very important. He had spent his whole life in the shadow of his father, trailing him around and following his orders to a 'T'. John Winchester was a man he respected, but was not someone he ever thought he would equal. John was the alpha, the beta, and the omega. Dean wasn't even part of the _alphabet_. But right then, when John had broken free of the demon's grip with not so much as a bang than a whimper, Dean burst free like a lion from a cage.


End file.
